


Dealbreaker

by Mollyamory (Molly)



Series: Soft Sciences [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bruce Banner Has Issues, Like really really slow, M/M, Post-Avengers (2012), Science Bros to Science Boyfriends, Slow Burn, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2020-01-31 10:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18589720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molly/pseuds/Mollyamory
Summary: After the battle in New York, Tony brings Bruce home.  Bruce fights the line a little.





	Dealbreaker

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to astolat, speranza and dorinda for cheering me on and putting up with my endless twitterpated ranting about this universe and these guys. :)

The bag he drops to the floor just inside the door of Tony's -- apartment? Suite? Whatever -- has seen more of the world than most people do before they die. It's ratty and old, fraying around the zipper. It smells. Bruce probably does, too -- he has no idea what the Other Guy smells like, but he imagines it's something like a cross between a dust devil and a forest fire. Whenever he comes back to himself, he's covered in a fine layer of silt that smells like it's recently been barbecued. Of course, whenever he comes back to himself, he's usually curled up naked on a pile of smoking rubble.

Tony Stark's home, even with the top floors wrecked by warring alien demigods, is an implicit rejection of unwashed scruffiness, however well-earned it might be. The battle with the Chitauri seems to exist in some other reality than the one this place occupies. The rooms are little lighter, both in color and architecture, than Bruce might have expected; a little homier than he thought the lair of a rich, eccentric genius superhero might be. But Tony seems perfectly comfortable in it, kicking off his shoes on the way through the door, hopping on one foot and then the other to take off his socks and then dropping them where he stands. 

"Make yourself at home," Tony says, and plants himself face-down on a leather sofa in the middle of the room. "Whatever you need, JARVIS will get for you, or make for you, or have somebody bring to you. Invent for you, if you need something really off the wall. Ask, and ye shall receive."

"So when he's not helping you fight aliens or hack into super-secret spy databases..."

"He's doing literally everything else."

Bruce stands by the door and looks around, scratching at the back of his neck. He'd take off his own shoes, if he were wearing any; the floor is smooth, fine-grained polished wood, reflective enough to shave in. He's wearing borrowed clothes of unknown provenance, and his skin itches everywhere that doesn't hurt. "Maybe I could just...take a shower?" 

"My skyscraper is your skyscraper," Tony mumbles into the sofa cushions. "Bathroom and bedroom down the hall to the right, fridge on the wall to the left, TV and internet --" He rolls over enough to wave a hand in the air; ten screens, various sizes, insubstantial as ghosts and clear as crystal, pop up in response. "Pretty much wherever you want. And that's just the basics. Later, when I regain consciousness, I'll show you the seriously fun stuff."

"Let's just start with the shower, and see how it goes."

"Since you spent the better part of the afternoon ripping the guts out of giant space worms, I approve of your priorities." Tony hoists himself up with a low sound that's half whine, half yawn. "Okay. I'll come with, find you some decent clothes, show you how everything works."

Bruce raises his eyebrows. "I've been off the grid for a while, but I think I still know how to take a shower."

"Not this one," Tony says. "Trust me on this."

Half an hour later, Bruce stumbles out of Tony's bathroom, dazed and glowing with vigorously applied high tech hygiene. There might have been nanites involved. He rubs at his hair with a thick towel spun out of clouds and sunbeams and mutters to himself, "In Stark Tower, the showers take _you._ "

Laid out on the bed there's a pair of worn jeans, clean underwear, and an ancient black AC/DC t-shirt with long sleeves and a frayed hem. Bruce lets out a long, low hiss as he pulls the t-shirt on -- it's a little small for him, and his skin is exquisitely sensitized, like a few important layers got peeled off along with the grime. 

_Like an exposed nerve,_ he remembers suddenly. It feels like about twenty years ago now, but that's what he'd said, without even thinking twice about it. Said to Tony Stark, a global celebrity even before he'd become Iron Man; a man Bruce had known for _maybe_ the better part of an hour at the time. He hadn't planned to open up like that; he'd come to do a job, and the last thing he'd expected was to care what any of these people thought of him. But Tony freaking Stark had pulled truth out of him like a rabbit out of a hat -- then taken it back in, as if he could somehow share the burden. Like he might actually care about a stranger living inside a nightmare. 

And now Bruce is standing in Tony's bedroom, warm and clean. Not a fugitive, no longer in Ross's cross-hairs, and he's been reliably informed that's partly to Tony's credit. He's known the guy barely more than a day, and he's covered neck to toe in Tony's business-casual uniform. It feels like a gesture. Not a very subtle one, but a kind one, all the same. 

He still doesn't have any shoes, though. That's starting to feel a little weird.

Before getting mauled by the shower, Bruce had thought about taking a nap when he came out. Now, sleep has been pushed behind a jittery buzz of surreality in his head. He looks around the bedroom for something to read, something to do while he waits for exhaustion to overtake him or for Tony to wake up, but this bedroom is a monument to undisturbed slumber -- no computer, no clock, no phone on the night stand. A good night's rest has never felt further away.

He pads back down the hallway, aiming fridgeward when he hits the main room. Tony is passed out in a jagged sprawl across the sofa. There's a drink sitting precariously at the edge of the coffee table beside him, still mostly full, and Bruce picks it up and takes it with him, sniffing it for research purposes. Scotch, and probably worth more than his undergraduate education. It's been a while since he last dared alcohol, but it's also been a while since he's been around any worth the risk. He downs it in one gulp, and coughs his way through the burn. 

Behind the sofa, there's a terrifying wall of glass opening out onto a wide balcony; he checks that out next. The view under the night sky is staggering, endless. Buildings rise up like mountains, channeling life and light and activity into narrow canyons as the city begins the struggle to repair itself. From so high above, there's no sound but the low, constant sigh of the wind. 

"Usually I put on some music," Tony says, unexpectedly close behind him. "Makes it all a little less creepy. Also, usually I don't stare at it like I'm thinking about stepping off the ledge."

Bruce turns around, already smiling. "Is that what I'm doing?"

Tony shrugs. He's half in shadow, hands in his pockets, shoulders straight and tense. "I don't know. What does Bruce Banner think about when he stares into the abyss? I'm guessing not kittens and rainbows."

Bruce looks over the edge, checking out the height. It's a very, very long way down. "Right now, I'm thinking if jumping off a helicarrier at thirty thousand feet didn't kill me, hurling myself from your balcony wouldn't even leave a mark." He shakes his head, and returns his attention to Tony. "Not much does." 

Tony's gaze sharpens, examining Bruce with an engineer's precision. "Do me a favor, come away from the balcony. You're kind of freaking me out."

Bruce follows him back down into the living room. "I thought you'd passed out for the duration. What are you doing up?"

"I don't sleep like most people," Tony says vaguely, eyes skating away. "You, though. You should get some sleep, so you don't --" 

"Turn into an enormous green rage monster?" Bruce says, fighting off a grin. "That's not how it works, Tony."

"I was going to say 'look like your own week-old corpse.' Not that you haven't totally earned the ghostly pallor and dark circles, but it's not my favorite section of your color wheel."

Bruce hadn't bothered to take a look in the mirror after his shower, but Tony's worried expression is instructive. "I'll sleep," Bruce says. "Eventually. Right now my brain is all over the place."

"Bedroom's right where you left it. Whenever you're ready."

"Thanks, but I can take the couch. I don't want to put you out of your own bed--"

"Not mine, actually. My floor's going to need some work before it's habitable again. This is Pepper's apartment, when she's in town. Which she generally chooses not to be when the city is threatened by angry gods and aliens."

Bruce tilts his head and looks around, seeing the place through different eyes. As Tony's space, it felt a little minimalist, but comfortable. If Tony liked his stuff better than he liked Bruce, Bruce wouldn't be there. But somebody else's home -- somebody who doesn't know him, who didn't invite him -- the walls are closer than they were a minute ago, and everything around him feels terrifyingly fragile. 

"What? You don't like it? Don't tell Pepper; she decorated it herself."

"No, it's ... nice."

"Oh, so that's your ‘it's nice' face? It could use some work." Tony leans in and peers at Bruce skeptically. "I'm seeing a little more ‘oh my god, get me out of here,' right around the eyes."

Bruce looks away, a warm flush creeping into his face. "I already broke _your_ living room--"

"Collateral damage incurred in service of kicking Loki's ass. Not exactly something I'm likely to bill you for."

"--and while I do appreciate the crash space, I think--"

"Hey." Tony closes a hand around Bruce's shoulder, pulling him around to look right into his face and giving him a gentle shake. "Don't even start that with me, Banner. We're not frat brothers, all right? We didn't just knock over a couple of kegs together. We toppled a god, and saved the world. You know I'm not offering you _crash space._ "

They're so close he can count the lines around Tony's eyes, almost see through the pale translucency of his skin. The warm weight of Tony's hand combines with the warm weight of his gaze, and Bruce should pull away. Pulling away should be instinct by now, lizard-brain reflex, but pulling away from Tony doesn't seem to fall within Bruce's skill set. 

So instead of doing what he should do, he stays right where he is and watches Tony watching him, until that becomes its own kind of answer.

"Okay." Tony gives Bruce another little shake, then lets go. "Good talk. We're done here? We're good?"

Bruce takes another look around the room, and he can't help but do the math in his head -- the cost to replace the furniture, not to mention the walls, would be astronomical. "Shouldn't you check in with Pepper before you let a big green ...independent variable... camp out on her couch?"

"Absolutely not. The last person Pepper invited over turned out to be an undercover SHIELD assassin, so she doesn't get to participate in hosting decisions anymore."

"Hosting?" Bruce says, eyebrows climbing. He looks at Tony over the top of his glasses, trying not to laugh. "Is that what's happening here? Because it's starting to feel more like a hostage situation." 

"Complete with Stockholm Syndrome, I hope," Tony says, eyes lighting up with a grin. "At least a little?"

"Probably a little," Bruce admits, and Tony's grin gets even wider. "You do know this is dangerous, though -- right? Keeping me around is a self-destructive impulse you should probably discuss with your therapist."

"You think I fly around in a shiny tin can shooting laser beams out of my ass because I care so very much about my personal safety?" Tony smacks Bruce's shoulder encouragingly. "Come on, man, live a little. Hang out with me a while. You can always run later, if you need to; the world's not going anywhere."

With the last breath of resistance in him, Bruce says, "Why do you care so much? What do you get out of it, if I stay?"

Tony's hands burrow into the pockets of his jeans; his shoulders come up, straight and defensive. For the first time, the bright certainty in his eyes seems to flicker. "I have to get something out of it? I can't just, I don't know -- want you around? Is that so crazy?"

"Yes," Bruce says. "It's crazy. You've known me two days, if we're being generous. I spent about half that time dismantling Midtown. And now you want, what, to exchange friendship bracelets? Newsflash - mine's not always going to fit."

Tony rolls his eyes impatiently. "Wow. You're really hung up on this Hulk thing, aren't you?"

"Even you have to admit he's the very definition of a dealbreaker." 

"No, he's not," Tony says sharply. His eyes are dark, all traces of humor stripped away. "Okay, fine. You want to know what I get out of it? I like you, Banner. I don't actually like a lot of people. I trust you, and I think that kind of goes both ways. I could stand to see something good come out of all this, and I could stand to have another friend I didn't have to build in a lab." Tony's shoulders slump, like the honesty has taken something fortifying out of him, some secret armor. "I mean, it's not just me, right?" he asks in a much smaller voice. "There's something good going on here."

Bruce takes a deep breath, and when he lets it go, the last of his resistance goes with it. He can't give back any less than he's being given. "It's not just you," he admits quietly. "I don't know what that means, but..." He shrugs. "I trust you, too. For whatever it's worth." 

"Then stay. You'll be good for me. And my giant, shiny, _quiet_ R&D division will be good for you."

Bruce laughs, tilting his head back as the tension bleeds out of him. Of course he's staying. He was always going to stay, whether he knew it or not. He stops an inarticulate sound of relief in his throat, something that would have given away far too much, and Tony's suddenly beaming at him, all too aware that he's won. 

"You know," Bruce says, squaring his shoulders, "'come back to my lab' isn't an invitation I care to accept very often."

Tony nods solemnly, but his eyes are still shining and smug. "That's because it's usually the Army asking, with guns and tranquilizers. I'm asking with a promise of unlimited funding, luxurious accommodations, and of course --" waving a hand to indicate the entirety of himself, "-- the best lab partner ever."

"That doesn't sound too terrible," Bruce says. "I guess." 

"Oh, thanks. I'm so glad to hear it."

"So... I mean, if you're in your right mind, and you're really, really sure --"

"I will call a notary," Tony threatens. "I will sign a fucking waiver, Banner, for the love of --" 

"--then I guess I'm staying." Bruce looks around the room again, offering Pepper an internal apology in advance. Just in case. "For a while, anyway."

"Excellent!" Tony says, "Done deal." He claps a hand on Bruce's shoulder and leaves it there, like he can hold Bruce to that promise with the strength of his grip alone. "JARVIS, please make sure the good doctor gets whatever his heart desires while he's on the premises. What _does_ your heart desire, Dr. Banner? Wine? Women? Song? Sky's the limit. Except it's not, really; if you want the sky, something could probably be arranged."

"Uh... none of the above, please?" Bruce says quickly, to both Tony and JARVIS, because packing and delivery issues aside, Tony probably would get him the sky if he asked for it -- or maybe if he just thought Bruce might want it. "I'm fine, really. I don't need -- huh." 

Bruce looks down, frowning -- really thinking about it for the first time. He's in the most expensive building in the world, in the city that never sleeps, with _Tony Stark_ offering to lay the world at his feet. There is one thing he needs. 

"Name it," Tony says, "it's yours." He's smiling slightly, rocked forward on his feet, like he's looking forward to the challenge. 

"You think JARVIS could find me a pair of shoes?" Bruce looks Tony in the eye, his shoulders tight with pent up laughter. "Size ten and a half?"

"Shoes," Tony says flatly, voice rich with disgust. "I offer you -- and you -- seriously? You just want _shoes_?"

"Yeah." Bruce grins, and curls his bare toes against Pepper's gleaming hardwood floors. "Let's just start with that, and see how it goes."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite rational on the subject of these guys, and I have a lot to say about them (or rather, a lot to make them say (and do) to each other). This is the start of a larger framework of stories that will either bounce off of or ignore canon as it goes, in mostly chronological order. It's mostly about Bruce how he and Tony come together, but it's also about the team, and how they all become one. I'll be posting on a fairly regular basis - probably once a week or so. 
> 
> If you enjoy this, please consider [reblogging it on tumblr](https://mollyamory-again.tumblr.com/post/184425427438/dealbreaker-molly-marvel-cinematic-universe). :)


End file.
